Pine Boxes
by faith in a heart of glass
Summary: She woke that day to a downpour of rain and a funeral. For the Before I Fall Competition.
1. Chapter 1

_For the Before I Fall Competition. Last Day One: Victoire Weasley, quote twenty, "I get that rush that comes when you know you're doing something wrong and are getting away with it."_

* * *

She woke that day to a downpour of rain and a funeral. Blinking eyes open to the dreary light and low hung clouds, she sighed and slipped into the dress that her mother had creased and draped over the back of a chair that night. She always said that busy hands kept the mind from wandering. Victoire didn't know if she agreed.

Of course, he'd been sick for ages; there wasn't a day she could remember when he wasn't in a hospital bed. Then again, she was only ten when it all started, he only two. It wasn't much of a surprise.

She weaved her hair into a straight braid down her back; pulled away, you could barely make out the faint lines criss-crossing her forehead. She hadn't slept in days, not before last night at least. She considered makeup for the deep circles under her eyes, but she figured she'd only muss it up with tears anyways, so she strapped on sandals and wandered her way downstairs. The spiral staircase down into the kitchen of dark windows.

Dom smiled at her halfheartedly from her seat at one of the barstools, but Victoire only slid in next to her and focused her gaze down at the countertop. It was set with seashells; sometimes she thought they took the beach theme a bit too seriously. It hardly ever stopped raining nowadays.

He smiled a lot. All the time he smiled. Even after he came out of another set of tests with cuts and IVs and an extra potent dose of anesthetic. He still smiled. It was remarkable. And so Victoire supposed it was better that she wasn't there till the end.

Victoire couldn't eat, and as her mother swept past and pressed a clementine into her palm, the thought of food made her nauseous and she only tucked it into her pocket and twiddled her thumbs until her father came down in a dark suit, kissed the top of her head, and gave a nod to his wife. She looked lovelier than ever, wrapped up in black with her hair pulled back tight. It was a sad circumstance.

They apparated to the home where it was to happen, a somber looking little building at the edge of the country, the land near the Burrow. It was hardly drizzling in that part of the world. She glanced around; there were so many. Men she didn't know, children she did, and a tall boy leaning against the wall, under the concrete overhang. She gave him a sad smile. He caught her eye and returned the same. A small nod to her mother and she went to join him. A black jacket and trousers, his hair done to match, he stood straight and wrapped her up in an embrace, stroking the back of her head gently. Maybe he thought she'd cry, but she didn't, only pulled back and placed a flat little kiss on his lips.

He looked into her eyes for a moment, and smiled one of the genuine smiles he doled out ever so sparingly.

"How about Prague?"

She sighed.

"Too crowded."

It was a game of theirs.

"Maybe later."

Teddy was there most of the time. A hand resting on her shoulder and one on her brother's. They were regulars at the wing, the one so pretentiously named "Rose Wing for Children", full of small kids like Louis who couldn't think or move or beat their own hearts. He was the light of the place, and Teddy's hair was a bittersweet shade of turquoise, especially towards the end. And looking at her now with the amber eyes he never could change, she could see it was the same, deep, almost black in its darkness.

"Stay with me?"

He nodded and took her hand in his, leaning back against the wall with him until they beckoned everyone inside to the room where the sad music played. Victoire closed her eyes and let the boy lead her- she didn't want to see. They took a seat with the family, it was short. A few words, a closed casket, a man in black. She left in a rush and let the fresh, damp air wipe away the stifling organ and the breath of a million people dressed up for a day of death. It wasn't raining at all anymore; not even a trace.

From there, her hand was taken again; he led her down the grassy path, the one that led out to the area with the stones. This part she could handle, yes- out in the open she could handle it. They were moving him out, the casket carried out by men she recognized in the back of her mind, uncles, cousins… she tried not to look too hard. The hole was dug already; they gathered around in a semi-circle. She dared to focus her eyes and see the patches of mud and Dom standing to her left- she could barely make out her hand clasped in that of her friend's. Victoire couldn't seem to bring to mind her name, but Dom was looking at her with a sad sort of dreaming, and she knew the sort of look that was. She wouldn't be alone in the end. At fifteen that was decided.

She didn't dare turn back to look at her parents, no- then she would cry. Get through without crying and she would be fine. Teddy traced patterns on her thumb with his, gentle touches as the man in front went on, the casket in front of him and her brother inside. She forced her eyes to remain in focus, her mind alert. She didn't let herself listen to his words.

There came a point when they creaked open the wooden box and her mother stepped up, her face collected and calm and everything Victoire was struggling to maintain, her father came up shortly after. There was a murmuring, but she couldn't have heard if she tried; they were words for the dead. They stepped back again, her uncles, cousins, one by one, Dom and the girl she loved, and after even Teddy had left her side and returned, she took a shaking step forward. He let go of her hand, she slipped it into her pocket for something to do. So close that the edges of her dress brushed the wood, she blinked and looked down.

Her turn to speak to the dead and she had everything to say.

It was all of the sudden, she got that rush that comes when you know you're doing something wrong and getting away with it; she felt every eye on her. A little whisper, "I-love-you", a cautious glance around, and a press of a small orange object into her brother's palm. He was cold, the orange warm with her body heat. She closed his fingers around it and stood for a moment, avoiding the paleness of his face, the stiffness of his suit. Someone came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to Teddy. He kissed her forehead and led her back, away from the coffin as they closed the lid and he sunk down down down into the earth.

It began to rain again; she realized he wasn't smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

_Change: Victoire looked back at her parents._

* * *

She woke that day to a downpour of rain and a funeral.

_An orange – a cold hand – a boy with deep blue hair._

The morning was a blur of blonde and red, lots of black. She dressed and watched as everyone kept quiet, and as her mother pressed a fruit into her palm, she slipped it into her pocket with a kiss to her father's cheek. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes before they were gone.

_Stiff pale hair – creases in a suit – a city never seen._

The rain was just letting up at the home, a dreary little place with a church in the front and a field in the back; all the little white stones. Teddy was leaning against the front of the building, dark clothes and a sad smile. She didn't look back, no- she ran to greet him and he wrapped her up in his arms with a kiss to the top of her head. She was struck by a sharp pain of isolation that even his heart couldn't break, and they stood this way for a long while before he mumbled into her ear, "Prauge?"

"Not crowded enough."

He smiled into her hair, she could feel his arms hold her tighter, and it wasn't until the sounds of deep bells rang through the courtyard they broke apart, and he held her hand all the way inside. Once they were seated, she decided she didn't like the organ, it made her feel empty; she didn't like the minister either, but she figured it was cruel to think like that about a man who was only trying his best, so she listened with an open heart as he spoke about bravery and little boys who stayed strong and laughter and smiles. Victoire wanted to hate him, but she just couldn't. He seemed to get it.

Even though, she didn't hold on to much in her memory. Maybe it was involuntary, maybe it was selective. All she knew was that the cool air on her face was the best she'd ever felt as she left the church with Teddy's hand in hers. She was shaking, but that was the worst part over, now she could stay outside with everyone… let him go.

They weaved their way down the back path until they were gathered around the casket, words were spoken, much the same as was said inside the building, and Victoire slipped out of focus and let her mind wander, over to her sister, hand clasped in that of her best friend. Teddy stroked the back of Victoire's hand with his thumb, and she could just see the redhead doing the same to Dom's. She supposed she'd always known, it wasn't a hush-hush sort of thing, but again, it wasn't anything they were hyper-aware of either. Victoire liked the small smile that spread across Dom's lips, the closed eyes and light kiss to her temple by the other girl. Yes- she saw love, and that was comfort enough.

The casket was still closed as she panned the group of people, Teddy by her side, her cousins scattered about, her uncle, Harry, his arm linked in that of his wife. Her hair looked nice that day, tied back and proper. It suited her somewhat severe features, Victoire thought. A slight sniffle from behind her, and Victoire gave Teddy's hand a tight squeeze as she composed herself and glanced back in the direction of her parents.

She instantly regretted it.

Her mother's hair, loose and wavy around her shoulders, taunted Victoire. The woman stood there, cold and unbreakable, posture rigid, dress drawn in sharp lines and angles. This was not the woman who bustled and made breakfast and sewed her daughters both dresses until they were too old for such things. No, this woman was still and only the slight tremble of her lip would ever suggest that she was hurting. Her father was still as well, but there was warmth to him; he gave Victoire a sad smile as he held his wife's hand, but she- she was too cold. Maybe Victoire should have felt admiration for her mother's composure, but instead it came as a stab to the chest, and before she knew what she was doing, before the casket was opened, she found herself letting go of the hand in hers, crossing her arms against the slight breeze, and taking off in the opposite direction, back towards the somber building where her brother had been placed up on a pedestal and sobbed for.

She walked quickly until she was under the shade, leaning against the wall where he had held her before, holding herself tight and watching as the blue-haired boy, only a speck, ran after her; the rest of the family seemed not to have noticed. He came over and wrapped her up again, held her so close that her shoulder began to cramp after a few seconds, but she didn't mind.

"Paris?" He whispered it into her hair.

People. Lots of people, everywhere and suffocating and fresh at the same time. No Louis in Paris. No frigid mother and warm father, no understanding.

"Let's go."


End file.
